That young lady made excellent use of her time. Day by day her chances
of a rich marriage had grown less and less, and day by day she had
grown more and more anxious to secure a position and a home. She had a
very poor opinion of Mr. Dale's intellect, for she believed only in the
cleverness of those bolder and more obtrusive men who make themselves
prominent in every assembly. She thought him a man easily to be
beguiled by honeyed words and bewitching glances, and she had,
therefore, determined to play a bold, if not a desperate game. While
Mrs. Marmaduke and Captain Graham were talking in the front drawing-
room, Lydia contrived to detain her guest in the inner apartment--a
tiny chamber, just large enough to hold a small cottage piano, a stand
of music-books, and a couple of chairs.
Miss Graham seated herself at the piano, and played a few bars with an
absent and somewhat pensive air.
"That is a mournful melody," said Douglas. "I don't think I ever heard
it before."
"Indeed!" murmured Lydia; "and yet I think it is very generally known.
The air is pretty, is it not? But the words are ultra-sentimental."
And then she began to sing softly--
"I do not ask to offer thee
A timid love like mine;
I lay it, as the rose is laid,
On some immortal shrine."
"I think the words are rather pretty," said Douglas.
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